Competition
by Blind Loyalty
Summary: Psymon's best friend has come to visit prior to heading off to the next SSX competition. But she has changed . . . a lot. Can Psymon tide his burgeoning feelings or will he give into what he wants? Can they stay competition? 'rewritten'
1. Chapter 1

AN: I decided this story deserved a re-write. I happened to look at the reviews, and it seemed to have been taken fairly well. But, as I said, it deserved a re-write. Especially now with SSX3 and On Tour out. It might get into On Tour way way later, but for now, it should be compatible with SSX3. The characters are slightly revamped, Mars especially so, but they should still be the basic same freaky people/couple from before.

BL  
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_Competition_

**Chapter I**

There weren't many things in the world that could make him happy. He sighed almost wistfully as he stared out the window, his hand resting on the sill. There was a slight dusting of snow on the ground, a gentle whirling of white drifting through the air. It wasn't even winter yet, but that didn't matter; snow came when it wanted and it always came early. Lingering light bathed the living room in shadow; he hadn't bothered to turn any lights on yet. He knew his way around the house with his eyes closed. It wasn't like it was a big home anyway. His eyes drifted down to the letter on the old end-table beside his new squishy leather couch. The couch had been the result of a sudden splurge, after receiving the letter of joy. He needed a new couch anyway. His old one had been threadbare and nearly falling apart.

Grabbing the letter desperately, his eyes raked it as a slow grin came to his face. Marshal was coming over. Finally. Taking a few steps back, he then turned and collapsed onto the couch. It had been so long since they had seen each other. SSX had taken up most of his life of late and he hadn't had time for anything but his work and his racing. Though they wrote, he had nearly given up on his friend; but now, the letter said, Marshal was signed up for SSX – it seemed his excitement and babbling on about it had finally stemmed the courage and recklessness in his friend that he had loved so very much.

With a grunt, Psymon pulled himself up into a sitting position, still gazing at the letter in his hands. His eyes rested on the arrival date Marshal had dictated; he froze, eyes widening. Leaping up, he ran to the kitchen and skidded to a halt, nearly falling over, as he studied the calendar on the wall. Shit.

* * *

Airports sucked. There were "no smoking" signs everywhere, and what seemed even more invasive were the children and frazzled people screeching and bustling, not necessarily respectively. Fiddling with the pack of smokes in his hand, Psymon chanced a glance around. A kid, no more than four, was standing a couple metres away. The young boy was absolutely gawking at the piercings and tattoos on the funny but scary man across from him. 

"Did those hurt?" the boy wondered with a slight lisp.

Psymon smirked and gave a shrug. "Nah," he responded, stuffing the smokes into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Really?" squeaked the kid, his eyes showing utter disbelief. As Psymon was about to answer that expletive (what was he going to do? Tell the kid they hurt like bloody hell?) the boy's mother happened to turn around. When she saw who – or what – her darling son was talking to, she gasped and quickly grabbed him away, making Psymon scowl. He was a freak, true, but not _that_ kind of freak. He found that kids were in many ways much more intelligent than their adult counterparts. The kid had asked honest questions and just wanted to know, whereas an adult was snide and judgemental.

Oh how he hated airports. Too many people for him. Way too many people. Glancing around, he tried to find his friend. He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Marshal. He would do anything for Marshal; even withstand the jeers and stares and parents worriedly steering their children away from him, because no one looking like he did could be a good person. Okay, well, he might not be a good person, but he certainly wasn't bad. And he was infinitely better to children than he was to the idiots and fools who spawned them.

There was bustle as a large group of people suddenly materialised; some moved with purpose, used to this sort of travel. Others were casual and relaxed, lingering with family or friends. And the rest . . . the rest were as uneasy as Psymon himself. At least he wasn't the only one. Also, he didn't have to do the actual flying. He could only imagine what it would be like to fly alone. That thought was quickly shaken away. No, he wouldn't imagine it; his mind couldn't take the paranoia and fear. To be cooped up with strangers for so long was . . . unnerving.

Wandering, but not too far from the terminal, he found an empty plastic chair and sat himself down. After five minutes, he realised why the chair was empty. Shifting his weight slightly to ease the cramp starting in his thigh, he scratched the back of his head. Damn this was annoying. Why the hell couldn't planes just be on time? Trying to relax, letting out a little groan as he tipped his head back and slouched, he felt the smokes give a bit under his weight. Shit, he always did that. Damage done, he just sat in that position for awhile, until his back started screaming at him. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands, bored out of his skull. At least with SSX, he had flown with people he knew; didn't like, but _knew_, and they had always been swept off to their destination in good time. Sometimes they had to wait to board the plane, but it hadn't been like this. With the others around, he had people to annoy and scare and make fun of. Business men walked by and glanced at him, giving him as wide a berth as they could manage with everyone else mulling about.

Okay, well, he could still scare people with one tired glance. That was not only pathetic, but it just wasn't the same. It was so much more satisfying to see Kaori's eyes go wide as she shrieked when he would take one casual step in her direction. There was nothing to gain in scaring strangers just by looking as he did. At least Marshal never judged him. Never did Psymon have to fear shivers or frightened glances.

The chair was really getting on his nerves. Hoisting himself up and out of it, he wandered around, mostly in a little circle, wondering how much of this mind-numbing tedium he would have to endure. Pulling the letter from his pocket, he double-checked the date and time. Yeah, he was right. This was the right day. He was in the right spot. Damn freaking planes. Stupid airports and their happy, scared people.

Another burst of people filled his vision. Folding the letter up, he stuffed it back into his pocket and examined the crowd. He couldn't see anyone of interest yet. A knot of Goths passed him by, eying him on their way. He returned the look, though his was more studious. Nope . . . none of them were Marshal. Giving the crowd of newcomers one more cursory glance, he turned back to the chair he had vacated. Which was now occupied. Suppressing a sigh, Psymon turned to go back to his wanderings.

A hand gripped his shoulder. Scowling at the light but persistent touch, he turned about and drew in a sharp breath. There Marshal stood before him, a grin plastered on her face. She arched a brow then was in his arms, giving him a big hug. Psymon was distinctly aware of her body pressing against his; holy crap, had it been that long since they'd seen each other in the flesh?

"Hey Psy-guy," she quipped as she pulled back, raking a hand through her spiked red hair, messing up the already messy gel-job.

"Mars," he returned, taking her in as he stepped back to hold her at arms' length. "Holy crap . . ."

Laughing, she shrugged and squirmed slightly under his scrutiny. "What?"

What indeed? Psymon just continued to stare, unable to form the exact words to describe what he was seeing. Her once brutally firm and harshly lined body had smoothed and become more rounded. The hips that had seemed as if they would always be boyishly slim had filled out giving her womanly curves that were only accentuated by the way she was holding her body. Her legs were still strong and well defined, as were her tattooed arms, but as his eyes travelled her arms, he gulped slightly. Damn. She had _really _filled out . . .

"You grew up," he finally grunted, giving her a lop-sided, somewhat awkward smile.

"Yeah," she breathed nonchalantly as she headed off to grab her luggage, "I supposed it had to happen sometime." She watched as Psymon fell into lockstep with her and grinned up at his somewhat intimidating visage. "It's not an imposition for me to stay with you before we head off, is it?"

He let out a laugh and hugged her tight to his side with one arm. "Never. We have catching up to do, Mars." Pausing as she picked out her luggage with a throng of worrying people, he cocked his head slightly to the side. "Why would you ask?"

Grabbing her things, Marshal handed off the heavier suitcase to Psymon and he took it without argue. Though his shoulder drooped considerably as he grabbed it from her, making her chuckle.

"The muscles all for show, or do they have some practical use?" she wondered teasingly as they set off, making Psymon shake his head ruefully.

"I was just surprised by the weight."

"Yeah, sure," she mocked, walking backwards to fix him with a relentless stare. "You say that."

It took a lot of will to not allow his eyes to focus below her chin, to watch her body move under that tight black shirt of hers. He couldn't understand what was going through his head. True, he couldn't understand much of what went through his head, but for fucks sakes, this was _Marshal_. His friend. One of his best friends. And suddenly he was ogling her like some chick in a bar? It had to be the sudden shock of a woman's body before him, rather than that somewhat self-conscious teen. Sure, she had still been an adult last time they met, but she hadn't shed the trappings of her youth. Seemingly now she had, and that one constant in his life had completely imploded before him. He had been expecting . . . well, he didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. This wasn't Mars.

She fixed him with a worried look as she slowed her pace then stopped altogether. Reaching up, her handbag slipping down her arm, she placed her palm on his stubbly cheek. Oh damn, that's what he had forgot to do.

"Something wrong, Psymon?" she murmured, one of the only voices that he had heard apprehensive without being condescending.

"Nah." A shrug, her luggage tugging at his arm. "Just thinking."

"About what?" They made their way outside and blinked at the bright sunlight, only made brighter by the layer of snow on the ground. Setting the bags down, they both reached for their smokes and lit up a Player's each, in tandem. Psymon's eyes alighted on Marshal's form as she tucked her pack back into her handbag. Some things never changed, he realised. Her green eyes fixed on his blue and with that, he realised she was still Mars. This time, he allowed his gaze to wander. A much improved Mars.

"Nothing," he grunted as he took a drag then stabbed the smoke back between his lips, causing Marshal to break out into sudden peals of laughter, nearly doubling over. "What?" he growled as she crossed her arms, resulting in pushing her breasts up a bit higher.

"You're male," she returned, lifting her brows. "What, do you think I'm stupid? I saw your face when you first looked at me." Twirling with her arms out, she halted and shrugged. "I know, I look different. You're right; I grew up."

A blush creeped up Psymon's cheeks. "Sorry."

Shaking her head, she gathered her things back up. "Don't be. It was a shock and it couldn't be helped."

Staring openly at her chest now, Psymon took another casual drag from his smoke and licked his lips. "They're uh, certainly bigger." His ease with the playful banter was only slightly betrayed by the deepening shade of his cheeks.

"How astute of you to notice," Mars stated softly with a slight jeer in her tone. "Are you quite finished?" she sighed as she rolled her eyes.

Going up on his toes and looking down her shirt, Psymon bestowed her with a brilliant grin. "Okay, done now."

"Alright then. Now, you still own that piece of shit car?"

* * *

It turned out that he did, in fact, still own his piece of shit car. Psymon had led her through the maze of a parking lot, their muscles straining as they approached a beat-up, mostly pale blue jetta. Her brow quirking yet again, Marshal just set her lips in a firm line and shook her head woefully. 

"What?" Psymon demanded as he opened the trunk and tossed her bags inside.

"Oh, nothing," she commented idly as she rounded to the passenger side. "But I would have thought . . . by now . . ."

Grunting as he opened his door, he leaned against his as he fixed her with a glower. "Yes, my car is still a piece of shit, and yes, my home is still a run down dump." His voice had been a tad harsher than he had wanted and he winced as Marshal's eyes first glinted with steel, then softened with sympathy.

"I didn't mean it like that, Psyborg."

A shake of his head and he slipped into the car. It wasn't that bad inside, forgiving the fast-food wrappers, ancient Timmies bags and scattering of empty cigarette packs.

"I know. Money's just been tight, even with the racing."

Marshal brushed aside a crumpled coffee cup and some cigarette butts. "You need to clean the ashtray out," she commented after peering over at it, deciding not to take her suggestions any further.

"Yes _mom_."

* * *

In some ways it felt weird. He had been expecting the sullen, withdrawn teenager to have been in that airport. Instead a grown woman had attacked him in a bear hug. And he had really, really enjoyed it. Sure they had communicated over the years, unable to ever stay out of touch; they had always meant too much to each other, had helped each other in so many ways. But now she seemed so different. Chancing a glance in her direction, a slight smile settled on his lips. Perhaps that was a good thing. He could very nearly feel the vitality and exuberance flowing from her, even as she did something as simple as stare out the window with a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The silence that should have been filled with jibes and happy cries of being back together felt more natural than the giggling and poking fun would have. There was catching up to be done, that was true, but it felt almost nice to bask in this quiet sharing, knowing that they could just be around each other and not have to worry about saying the right things. Or tripping over their tongues. 

At the moment as he watched her inhale deeply, he knew he was at risk of that. Though she had been his friend for so very long, it was as if his mind and body were tugging him in two different directions. As friends, they were compatible and could stand to be around each other and even co-habitate for long periods of time. But also as friends, there couldn't be anything more.

Shaking his head, Psymon returned his attention to the road. Which was a good thing, as there was on-coming traffic. Half-way through the ride home, Mars turned as she flicked her second smoke out the window and gripped his arm with a little squeeze.

"It really is good to see you again, Psy-guy," she whispered.

"Ditto."

She fidgeted with her pack of smokes for a moment and frowned. "Why are you so quiet?"

He shrugged. "I liked the silence."

"So did I. But I mean now. Why aren't you more up to talking?"

"Driving."

Leaning her head back against the headrest with a dramatic sigh, she punched his bicep. "What's wrong Psymon? I know something is, I can tell."

Damn her. When didn't she know? "Well," he started as he eased the car down a gear, "you're just so . . . different. I'm still in shock."

Her voice was firm as her forehead furrowed. "Growing tits doesn't make me different."

He shook his head most seriously. "Hips too."

"Psymon!" she cried, attempting to sound scandalised as she attacked him playfully. "_Is_ there something wrong?"

"No." He turned his head to face her at the red light as they got off the highway. "Nothing is wrong. I was just surprised. You seem slightly different too."

She shrugged offhandedly. "It's been what, three years? Did you really think I would stay a little girl forever? Hell, last time we hung out I had already been maturing. You didn't notice then." Something in her voice sounded almost hurt.

"Angel," he whispered, cupping her cheek and stroking her with his thumb, "c'mon. Give a crazy man a break. More than your body has changed. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you carry yourself. Your . . . carriage. You've changed. For the better," he tacked on with a little grin. "Really. I like it. It suits you. You deserve to feel however you're feeling. Because I can tell its good."

"Psymon," she breathed, throwing her arms around his neck. "I missed you so much. I wanted to go dirt biking with you every time you wrote about being drenched in mud; wanted to shred powder beside you whenever you spoke of bombing down hills and crashing into trees." Pulling back slightly, she fixed him with a wary eye. "You didn't _break_ anything, did you?"

He responded in the negative as he turned around in his seat, the light going green as he did so. She smiled at him and toyed with his hair. It was somewhat coarse, but that was good with how he liked to style it. Unlike herself, he hadn't seemed to have changed. He still had the piercings, the tattoos, that fire in his pale eyes. His demeanour was pretty much the same as well, though he seemed to carry himself with a much more quiet danger, rather than being a screaming, raving lunatic. Perhaps he had changed after all. They had both grown up.

His eyes flickered to hers as she continued to play with his spikes. Grinning at her, he butted his head against her hand. She rewarded him with a smack on the shoulder.

"Careful, you'll poke my eyes out with those things."

Snorting with laughter, he leered at her. "These are nothing compared to what I could poke your eye out with."

Laughing, Marshal relaxed in her seat, pulling her hand away from him. "Whip it out little man."

"I'm not little," he growled through gritted teeth, his eyes turning into slits.

"Right. Psymon, I'm what, an inch shorter than you? You're short. Just admit it and you can move on with your life," she said, adding a "moving on" gesture with her hands.

"I'm still not little," he retorted.

She rolled her eyes. "Contrary to what you may believe, I'm not speaking of your penis. Furthermore, I don't care if you're 'little' down there, because it just doesn't matter." Her eyes sparked as she shifted to face him. "Much," she finished to taunt, making him reach out and mock strangle her.

"I kill you!" he cried as he chuckled, letting her go. Okay, well, that hurdle was over with. She still had no shame and felt comfortable enough with him to speak like that. Perhaps what he had been feeling wasn't such a big deal after all. He could definitely get used to this new Mars; or, this improved Mars. She was as easy-going and scathing with him as she had ever been. And it seemed from her earlier comments, as much a daredevil. They sat in silence for the rest of the drive, Psymon humming tunelessly as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Marshal just watched him with an amused expression on her face. He was always entertaining; you had to give him that.

Turning abruptly and braking hard just before he crashed into his decrepit garage, he howled with laughter as Marshal gasped, gripping the seat, then lunged at him, punching wherever she could.

"You bastard!" she shouted, trying not to laugh even as she felt her heart pound as surely as she was pounding his shoulders and chest, "you could have killed us!"

Still laughing as he opened his door and delicately extracted himself from her faux-fury, he went to the trunk as she burst out of the car and ran at him. Just as he opened the trunk, he found himself suddenly heavier, his arms wrapping around her waist as she leapt on him, giving him another hug.

"I really did miss you."

He grunted into her hair. It smelt of shampoo. "I know Angel." Letting her down gently, not seeing the flash in her eyes, he reached into the trunk and started dragging her things out. "Next time, could you pack a little less of your house?"

"Never," she scowled, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. "Get my stuff in the house, slave-boy."

With a roll of his eyes, Psymon hefted her things up and struggled with them to the front door. Marshal rushed ahead of him and opened the unlocked doors so he could make his way inside. She followed him to the livingroom and gasped slightly.

"Nice couch," she said under her breath as she went over to the large black leather sofa and ran her hand over it. Gingerly sitting herself down, she then curled up on it experimentally. Then she stretched out, kicking off her shoes and flexing her toes.

"Glad you like it. You'll be sleeping there. Er, in my excitement for leather, I kinda forgot to get a pull-out. Hope that's not a problem."

A short, mischievous giggle escaped her as she swung her legs around, perching on the edge of the couch. "Your excitement for leather? Psymon!"

"Oh shut up," he grunted with a smirk, dropping her things. "This is your room. I'll only claim it for myself when I want TV."

Wondering in a dry voice, Mars asked, "I don't have to mark my territory, do I?"

He shook his head, then shrugged. "Nah. But I mean, it couldn't hurt." As she rose up and started beating him with a pillow, he took off in the direction of his room, laughing as she followed, "And besides, it'd be amusing!" he finished, turning around and getting pillow in the face.

"Charming as ever, Psy-guy," she drawled, allowing her arm to drop. "I'm having a shower." Handing the pillow over, she headed for the washroom, leaving him alone in the hallway. Going back into the living room, Psymon tossed the pillow onto a chair and returned to his room. Relaxing on his bed as he put his hands behind his head, he smirked to himself. Well, that had certainly been an interesting couple hours.

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An con't: I just wrote this, but I wanted to post it. So this is just a warning that the rest of the story may take awhile to start getting posted. Especially since I have another fic that needs my attention. On top of that, I have work and Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion is coming out on Tusday and I have it pre-ordered, so my time will be taken up completely. I will be a slave to my 360 (and my Chef as usual -.-). But do not fret, I will work on it. That is, if people want to read it. Because if no one does, I really do not have time to be rehashing an old story. If you want it, please review. At least then I'll know. And yes, it does seem like a cheap way to garner reviews, but c'est la vie, its still true.

BL


	2. Chapter II

Hey guys. Well, I've been writing this story a bit. I actually have some good ideas for On Tour-year, so I'm working up to that, but we still need to get through SSX3. I only have a few chapters done, but hopefully I'll have more time to write soon. If anyone wants to beta this story, that'd be great. I just need another set of eyes to catch the things I haven't.

Please, please, please review. Reviews feed my soul. And they make me write more. Literally. I read a review and I get all "Yay! I write more now!" So please review.

* * *

**Chapter II**

The shower felt _really_ good after the flight. Marshal relaxed under the stream of water as she shook out her hair, feeling the gel oozing down her body. It was always an odd feeling whenever she washed her styled hair out, but she was used to it now. Scrubbing down quickly, she then turned up the temperature and just stood there, enveloped in hot water and steam. Cold and tension eased out of her; eventually she decided that she should get out of the shower, before she drove Psymon's bills up any higher.

Grabbing the faded yellow towel she had placed on the countertop, she dried herself off then wrapped herself up. Opening the bathroom door cautiously, she peeked around. Not seeing or hearing Psymon, she went to her make-shift room and started dressing. When that was done, she went on to unpack her stuff. There really wasn't much, and there weren't many places for her to put things. She settled on using the floor at the end of the couch as her dresser and the coffee table for a bookshelf and assorted items storage.

Everything went black. Gasping, Marshal thrashed in the pile of blankets that had been dumped on her head. Tearing them off as she heard Psymon's laughter, she shot him a glower.

"You're a bastard."

He shrugged and started picking the blankets up off the floor and placing them on the couch, along with a couple pillows. "I would have though you'd be more grateful for blankies. Is cold out." He nodded solemnly to accentuate his point.

"Yeah yeah," she muttered, pulling herself up off the floor to sit on the couch. "Okay, so, I'm unpacked," she announced as she gesticulated around the room. "What do you want to do now?"

Shrugging again, Psymon flopped down on the couch beside her. "I want to go boarding. But you're probably 'lagged, so we can hold off until tomorrow or the next day." Reaching out, he brushed her short, damp hair off her forehead and smiled somewhat. "We can just watch movies for the day if you want, as you settle in."

"Hm. I need to go clothes shopping, get stuff for racing and such. We can hold that off for now though." She paused. "Hey, what about dinner?"

Thinking for a moment, his blank gaze drifting over her as he did so, he eventually spoke. "Let's just get pizza. I doubt either of us wants to bother cooking."

"Roger that," she sighed as she stood and stretched. "Can we go out, or are you just gonna order in?" Kneeling at the end of the couch, she started rooting around for a hoodie. Emerging with a deep red one, she tugged it on over her t-shirt and turned back around to look at Psymon, who had returned to thinking.

"We can go out," he said slowly, nodding to himself. "If you want to."

"Yeah, I do. I feel restless. I don't wanna stay inside. We have all night for that. Unless you want to cause havoc or something."

He responded with a wry grin. "Nah, I'm good for tonight."

Smirking, Marshal sat back down onto the couch and lazed out over his lap. "And until then?"

Giving her a shrug, he petted her damp hair. "I have nothing planned. You?"

"You're supposed to be my host, loser."

"How about we catch up?"

_

* * *

"Marshal, you have thirty seconds to finish; this is pathetic child. I'm an old man and I still finished before you. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"_

_"Sorry Dad," she managed to gasp out as she forced to legs to move faster, nearly stumbling at the way they felt like jelly, how her muscles trembled and screamed in protest. "But you know I'm not a distance—"_

_"Do I look like I care?!" he roared, glancing at the stop watch. "There are no excuses for failure. _Move it!_"_

_Huffing a tendril of sweat dampened hair out of her __eyes,__ she scowled at her father and double-timed it. Faltering as she made it to him, she was heaving on the ground as he clicked the stop watch._

_"You shaved off ten point eight seconds. Good work." Reaching down, he helped her up off the ground. _

* * *

"So the Colonel is doing alright than?" Psymon wondered at Marshal's eyes slitted over to his.

"Yeah, Dad's doing fine. As annoying and overbearing as ever." She paused and mulled over that for a moment. "Okay, that's not quite true. He's finally learned that his little girl has grown up. Or, at least he's in the process of learning. He isn't as bad now. Still, he'll leap out of shadows for sudden drills and Gods help you if you fail to perform as expected." Sitting up with a sigh, she leaned back in the couch, getting comfortable.

"He just wants you to be the best," Psymon commented.

"Yes, well, being woken up at three in the morning to your father screaming in your face isn't the most concerting thing in the world."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't imagine so." Just picturing "the Colonel", as Psymon had dubbed him from day one, suddenly bursting in on his sleeping form to start shouting at him and dragging his warm ass out of bed into the cold was shudder inducing.

"But he's loosened up enough to let me enter SSX. Though, I think to him, this is just another training ground and it'll just prove my worth or somesuch." Cracking her knuckles, she cocked her head at Psymon. "How about you? Anything new?"

"Meh." He lifted his shoulders and let them drop. "Nothing more than I've written."

"Fuck you're boring," she teased. "What, all you do is work in that dinky repair shop of yours, go snowboarding and dirtbike?"

"Yeah," he returned wistfully as his eyes became dreamy, "something like that."

"You know," Marshal sighed as she leaned against him, "sometimes I hate you. You can have my father if you want."

"Err . . ."

"For fucks sakes Psymon!" she cried, trying desperately not to laugh, "I didn't mean _nail_ his ass! Oh holy fuck that's disturbing. That is really, really sick." Holding her head, she shook it in attempt to dislodge the offending images.

In reply, Psymon just started whistling "In the Navy."

* * *

Dinner hadn't been too bad. Then again, anything was better than what she was used to. They had gone to a pizzeria run by actual Italians, so they knew what they were doing. Psymon had even offered to pay for it; she had found that endearing, but unfair. It wasn't like it was a date, and besides, it was the offer that counted. She was used to splitting costs with friends. And on top of that, she was already living in his house and not having to pay for it. So when it came time to pay the bill, she split it with him, saying it was only reasonable that she pay her portion. Something in his eyes had glinted, but he had shrugged then, saying it was cool. 

There was really nothing else to do after that. They had left with no plans as to how to spend the rest of the night after gorging themselves. Each quietly thinking to them self as to what to do, they both arrived at the same fail-safe that had guided them through countless boring nights. As they entered Psymon's car, both nodded and looked to the other.

"You just wanna watch movies?" they asked at the same time, making them chuckle over their predictability.

"Oh we're pathetic," Psymon stated as he started the car, pulling out of the parking lot. "But I did just get another Kubric, so we can watch that."

"Sweetness. Can we watch Full Metal Jacket too?" Marshal wondered as she curled up in the seat, studying her friend.

He grunted. "Sure. Why not. Skull fucking always makes me happy," causing Marshal to start laughing once more. "I even have popcorn," he tacked on; something in his tone made her lose it, howling until tears streaked down her face. It was good to be back amongst civilised company. And stating that Psymon was civilised was saying a lot.

* * *

Three Kubrics, two bowls of popcorn and way too many Vodka sodas found Marshal lolling on the couch, Psymon laughing at her before lumbering off to his own room, ricocheting off the walls until he made it to his bed. She could hear him mumbling to himself, and probably Roy, as she managed to gather herself enough to lie on the couch. Groaning, she rolled over and rested her head on her arm, staring blankly off. Well, that had been an interesting day. He hadn't changed so much; but he had seemed shocked by her. A smirk crossed her features. Damn right he would be shocked. She wasn't a little girl anymore, was she? 

Tendrils of nausea began winding up through her belly. Shutting her eyes tight, Marshal forced it down. Thinking took too much energy. She'd have to just sleep this one off. If she could manage to get to sleep . . . Her head kept spinning . . . sleep would never happen . . .

Naturally, as it always did, sleep happened. Marshal was more than thankful for that, waking up slowly with a yawn, stretching her arms out over her head. Rolling her shoulders, she glanced around, wondering what time it was. Blinking the haze out of her eyes and rubbing out the sleep with a knuckle, she lumbered up out of the couch and went to the kitchen. Morning. Nothing like alcohol to fix jet lag, she thought wryly. Walking through the kitchen she stopped at Psymon's door and knocked, figuring he had to be up by now.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "Good morning to you too, sunshine."

"Gimme a minute," he grumbled.

She hesitated slightly, then called out, "Are you masturbating in there?"

"Yes. Go away."

"Can I help?" she quipped in return.

A second later the door opened, a half-dressed Psymon quirking a brow at her. "I was actually getting dressed."

"At least you have pants on," Marshal retorted, returning the arched brow. "Finish getting dressed – let's go do something."

He nodded and shut the door, searching for a clean shirt. Marshal went to the bathroom for her usual morning routine, finishing with brushing her teeth. Spitting foamy white toothpaste into the chipped, tan enamel sink, she flushed it down with water and rinsed out her mouth as Psymon barged in.

"Out," he grunted.

"I'm almost done," she sighed, splashing water on her face.

"I haveta piss."

"Then piss," she growled, drying her face and her hands on the yellow towel from the day before. "I promise I won't look at your peepee," she swore solemnly, "because I'd need a microscope to do so."

Suddenly her feet weren't on the ground anymore and she realised she was squealing. Psymon's arms squeezed tighter around her as she wiggled, trying to escape his clutches. He carried her out of the bathroom, dropped her unceremoniously to her feet, plucked her pink toothbrush from her hand, re-entered the washroom and shut the door behind him, locking himself inside.

"Sensitive much?" she demanded, banging on the door a few times before going into the kitchen and sitting at the table. It was a really nice day out, she mused. The sun _was_ shining (and horrifically bright, positively glowing off the snow drifts outside), the trees were sparkling in their frozen, snow-dusted glory and the birds were, actually, chirping now and then. It was a perfect day for boarding and she could only hope the conditions were as good as the weather appeared.

Gazing out windows holds its appeal for only so long; when she heard the shower starting, Marshal got up and grabbed one of her books. She had expected Psymon to come barging out of the bathroom, right quick, for breakfast. Apparently not. Settling into the plush, unbelievably comfortable black leather couch, she cracked open her book, removed the bookmark and resumed reading. Her eyes were scanning the pages a few chapters on, when she heard the click of a door opening and Psymon's distinct gait entering the kitchen. Closing the book and placing it down on the table, she stood and went back to the kitchen, smiling at the sight.

Washed, shaved, dressed – damn, he looked almost respectable.

"Are you civil now?" she wondered, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, "or are you still a bear?"

"I'm never civil," he returned, flashing a grin before rummaging through the fridge. "Breakfast?"

Pushing off the counter with her hip, she strode over and peered into the fridge. "Any souls of the innocent?"

He shrugged and lifted up a carton of eggs, head still buried in the interior. "I have eggs," came his semi-muffled voice, "it's sort of the same."

"Do you have bacon?" she wondered, taking the eggs, allowing him to fill up his arms with food.

He snorted in disbelief. "_Do you have bacon_, she asks," he taunted, shutting the fridge door with a gentle kick. "I'm a man – what do you think?"

Going with him over to the stove to start helping, she was taken slightly aback when he shook his head and pointed to the table.

"What?" she wondered, staring curiously at him.

"Go sit. I'll cook. Breakfast is a man's meal anyway," he tacked on, not letting her near the eggs.

"Fine," she breathed, throwing her hands in the air as she went to the table. Sitting, she drummed her fingers on the table, watching Psymon cook for her amusement. That was the one thing that had always surprised her about him. He could actually cook. And he learned techniques really fast, too. He must have been learning, recently.

"Are you still watching those cooking shows?" she wondered, putting as much of a scathing tone in her voice as possible.

He cringed slightly from the attempt on his manhood. "Yes," he muttered. "I've learned a lot!" he whined, trying to defend himself. "I don't have anyone to cook for me," he finished lowly. "And I'm good at it," he tacked on, sounding defensive.

She giggled. "I was just teasing. I'm glad you can cook. Beats starving."

"True," he sighed, frying up the bacon and setting the oven on.

"Are we going snowboarding today?" she asked as the bacon sizzled and popped in the frying pan, sending a shower of grease up at Psymon, who leapt back and missed the worst of it. He brushed the boiling oil off his arm and went back to the range.

"Sure. Everything's in the basement. You're going to have to get a new board though, at some point," he informed her, turning around slightly to face her before flipping the bacon. "And boots. Clothes, too. You also have to get the right bindings, and those aren't cheap."

Shrugging at the revelation, she ran a hand through her hair. "My dad gave me one of his credit cards and cleared me to use it. He told me to get whatever I want, as long as I don't put him in the poor house."

Psymon snorted and put the bacon on a tray, firing it into the oven. Then he cracked the eggs and fried them up in the bacon grease. "Must be nice, being rich, Marsie."

"I'm not rich!" she cried, "My dad is!"

"The Colonel gonna spread the love, or what?" he wondered, turning the eggs over as gently as possible.

"Like I said, I have his credit card."

He just grunted non-committally, concentrating on the food. "Well," he finally said as the eggs finished and he placed them on a plate, tossing potatoes into the pan, "we won't bother buying anything yet. You still have to get your snow legs on. Your old shit's fine for now."

"Okiedokie, Psyborg." She sat in silence, and he cooked in silence, until finally the meal was done and served up. As he poured orange juice, Marshal got up and grabbed knives and forks, the toast and her plate, leaving him to carry the two glasses and his food. They sat together, eating, the silence continuing, save for the scrape of utensils. Psymon seemed overly focused on his eggs, not even bothering to look at Marshal. She hated his moods, how a tiny little thing that only annoyed him would fester until it infuriated him. Even a joke could leave him sullen and moody, or his own comment that grew in his mind until it became something offensive.

"Did you take your meds this morning?" Marshal dared to ask, her voice soft. Psymon shook his head like a morose little boy. She squeezed his arm and got up, heading for the pantry where his medication was stored. The place never changed and she was greeted by the same bottles of pills, as if they just stood there, eternally untouched. She knew he would prefer it that way, but he couldn't function without them. Searching through the bottles, trying to remember which one he took in the morning, and the dosage. Popping one of the white lids off the orange bottles, she shook two small pills into her palm and walked over, placing them on the table by his hand.

"Thanks," he grumbled, not thankful that he had to take them, but that she cared enough to grab them for him. Tossing them in his mouth, he dry-swallowed them, then took a swig of orange juice. "I hate meds," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"They make you better," Marshal sighed, placating him. "At least they don't numb you." She rubbed his back. "They just stop you from getting all dark and brooding."

He smirked and laughed a bit. "I thought chicks were into that."

A grin crossed her features, eyes sparkling as she pinched his cheek as if he was an adorable little kid. "Yeah, but the qualifier 'handsome' is always a part of it. And 'tall'. One out of three, buddy."

Chuckling woefully, he glanced over at her. "You keep insulting me and it'll so thoroughly crush me that my doc will have to up the dosage."

Giggling, she smacked him gently. "Don't even threaten. Your ego is so vast that it would take years trying to wear it down."

"I'm hurt," he breathed, standing and taking their empty plates, stacking everything up to drop into the sink. He ran some water and let them soak, watching as Marshal got up and walked over to him. His eyes flickered up and down her length and a slight, indulgent smile formed on his lips. For the next few months, he was going to be around her all day, every day. Studying the curves he could have never suspected her body capable of growing, he smirked and didn't care that she could see the indolent, enraptured expression on his face. Simply looking was a great medication. Screw the pills, he had a better cure standing in front of him. Someone who cared, who could _talk_ to him and someone who was thoroughly yummy.

"You're staring," Marshal sighed, sounding bored.

"Mmhmm," he murmured, grinning wickedly at her then. "I've had my fill. Let's go."


End file.
